Battlements Interlude
by Ellana-san
Summary: Talk to Cassandra. Easier said than done, really. Varric grumbled under his breath all the way up the stairs that led to the battlements, reviewing every insult he wanted to hurl at the Seeker's head. He doubted that was what Lavellan had in mind when he had told him – ordered him – to have a proper conversation with the Seeker now that she had calmed down. He also doubted she ha


_This takes place a little after Hawke's arrival at Skyhold and after the explosive fight between Cassandra and Varric. What can I say, I love them too much._

 **Battlements Interlude**

 _Talk to Cassandra_.

Easier said than done, really.

Varric grumbled under his breath all the way up the stairs that led to the battlements, reviewing every insult he wanted to hurl at the Seeker's head. He doubted that was what Lavellan had in mind when he had told him – _ordered_ him – to have a proper conversation with the Seeker now that she had calmed down. He also doubted she had _actually_ calmed down.

He had always known that lie would come back to bite him in the ass but what other choice could he have made? Chantry's agents kidnapping him and asking questions, demanding to know where Kirkwall's Champion was… At the time, lying had been the only option. And, _sure_ , he had started feeling a little guilty lately because he had found a place in this group, in the Inquisition… But his loyalty… Hawke was family and he could never have betrayed him.

Surely, the Seeker could understand that, couldn't she? Men knocking down his door, chaining him up, _threatening_ him… It didn't exactly inspire trust.

He was a little short of breath by the time he reached the battlements and he told himself it was the climb more than apprehension. He and the Seeker weren't friends by any mean of the imagination. When he had told Lavellan that things between them were as good as they were going to get, he had meant it. However… Well, they might not have been friends but lately they had become comrades and familiarity was slowly replacing hostility.

The Seeker was leaning against the rampart wall, looking out at the vertiginous sight of mountain tops that caressed clouds. She was a sight in the moonlight. The flickering light from the numerous campfires in the courtyard tossed shadows on her armor, the shield that was never far from her side glimmered where it was propped against the wall… It was a sight that would have had a place in one of his stories and he didn't let himself waver when he walked toward her.

She knew he was there and she knew he was approaching. She must have. She was too much of a seasoned warrior not to be aware of her surroundings. It was why he wasn't surprised by the sudden tension in her shoulders when he finally stopped next to her. He leaned against the wall, facing away from her, turning his attention to the life inside the fortress instead of looking out at an empty landscape. It was probably telling that his attention automatically went to where people were gathered when she preferred the silent emptiness.

In the field, it was a position they might have adopted to control their surroundings, to make sure nobody would make a jump on them. In the field, they would have trusted the other to have their back. They had come that far since Kirkwall.

Now, though…

Now she was back to slamming fists and tossing tables and she would probably have hit him too if he hadn't avoided her punch.

He missed the familiar weight of Bianca at his back but didn't regret leaving her in his room despite the shield and the sword she had yet to part with in the safety of the castle. Not only would it have sent the wrong message to come armed but lately he felt a little guilty every time he looked at the crossbow in the Seeker's presence.

Maybe because he had to force himself not to notice that a strand of hair had come loose from the braided circlet on her head. Maybe because he was enthralled with the way the Seeker fought and had almost gotten stabbed by smugglers twice now, too busy watching her swing her shield. Maybe because even when he mocked her, it was less bite and more teasing.

He told himself his interest in her was easily justified, that she would have been the perfect muse for a new character and that it had been too long since he had last had enough time to write something worthwhile.

He told himself a lot of _bullshit_. It was a gift.

Explosive fights like the one from earlier… They left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The kind of bad taste that only happened when you disappointed someone you cared about.

He would never have betrayed Hawke. But perhaps by not betraying his best friend, he had betrayed someone else.

He stood there for a long time, waiting for her to talk, to _attack_ the conversation they needed to have. Cassandra Pentaghast, he had learned early enough, had zero patience. He expected her to accuse him or confront him and thus he was at a loss when she remained silent.

He had lost count how many minutes he had been standing there when he finally chanced a glance at her and he was startled to realize he was _intruding_. Her jaw was clenched, her hands were fisted together in a praying stance, and her eyes were closed. He didn't think she was applying to the Maker though, the emotion on her face was too familiar. _Grief_.

His stomach churned. As if he didn't already feel guilty enough. He had been torn between Hawke and the Inquisition for weeks now.

"Seeker." he started because it was as good a beginning as any. His voice came out softer than he had intended, more raw and honest than he had planned on being.

"Varric." she replied, her accent sharp but her tone calm. Tired, perhaps. Or worse, _defeated_.

He looked away from her, unable to bear the sight of her distress any longer. She wasn't meant to be distressed. From the very beginning, since the sky had burst green, she had been a steadfast rock. She had assumed control, she had kept everyone together and safe, she had _led_ them all. And he had been grateful for that because he had never been a leader himself, following was what he was good at. Following good people and making sure they didn't bite on more than they could chew.

He wrote heroes in his stories and he sometimes forgot they were also people.

"It wasn't personal." he offered. That was important somehow. She needed to know. Anyone else could have interrogated him and he still would have said the same things, offered the same lies.

"I would say it was _too_ personal." she countered with a snort that held no real humor. "You did not know me and had no reason to trust me with the life of someone you hold so dear."

"He's more my brother than Bartrand ever was." Varric explained, burying his hands in his pockets. "You wouldn't have sold the Divine, right? Think about it. If you had been me and it had been about Justinia… You wouldn't have betrayed her no matter how good intentioned the people seemed to be."

 _Or how beautiful the main kidnapper was…_

That last part he did not voice. It floated in his head, unwelcomed and unacknowledged.

"I understand." the Seeker declared, surprising him yet again. "I do not like your deceptions but I understand why you felt them necessary. And you were right. If we had found the Champion, it is likely he would have died at the Conclave. As you pointed out, if it had been Most Holy… I was unfair and let my grief speak for me."

His eyes shot up but she was still looking out at the wilderness and not at him.

"I _am_ sorry." he sighed. "And I _am_ committed, you know."

"I know." she acknowledged, briefly bowing her head. "The Inquisitor isn't unlike the Champion you wrote about. He has a gift from bringing very different people together. I do not doubt your loyalty to him."

"I will kill and die for my friends." he commented. "Hopefully distract them with a funny story now and then…" She didn't react and he rolled his eyes. "Can I interest _you_ in a funny story, Seeker? Or do you have something that needs killing? A dummy maybe? I saw there's one still standing in the yard…" It didn't earn him a smile but it did succeed in attracting her gaze. She looked down at him, her eyebrows furrowed together. It was his turn to avert his eyes. "It's not just Lavellan, you know. I like the rest of you just fine. Well, maybe not the Iron Lady. And I haven't forgotten about your book stabbing but…"

A hand fell on his shoulder and he stopped talking.

"I will kill and die for my friends too." she stated. And in her mouth, it sounded like an oath. "Goodnight, Varric."

She briefly squeezed his shoulder before picking up her shield and striding toward the closest door.

"So, we're okay then?" he shouted at her retreating back.

"Are we ever?" she retorted without even looking back.

There was a smirk on his lips when he made his way down to the courtyard and no matter what, he couldn't shake it off.


End file.
